


A touch of Melbourne Magic

by Lucivar



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Australia, Banter, Bughead Secret Santa, Christmas, Core 5, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Holiday to Australia, Hot Christmas traditions, Implied Sexual Content, POV Jughead Jones, Travel, background Veronica/Reggie/Archie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucivar/pseuds/Lucivar
Summary: Veronica coerces the gang to an all-expenses paid holiday to Australia for Christmas.Jughead is determined to have a bad time.Betty has a folder with weird Australian facts to help.A Secret Santa gift for@alpacalypseartbon Tumblr who wanted to relive Melbourne through Jughead's sassiness!
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge
Comments: 52
Kudos: 56
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Bughead Secret Santa





	A touch of Melbourne Magic

**Author's Note:**

> **@alpacalypseartb** , I hope you enjoy this! Your prompts were so good! I hope you enjoy your trip to Melbourne, the core 5, Jughead being snarky with everyone but Betty, Aussie Christmas traditions, Archie as a Himbo, Reggie as god-tier and Veronica being Veronica. 
> 
> I hope you had a great Aussie Christmas! All the love! <3 Georgie

In September, Jughead watches over the lid of his laptop and through the sea of candy-stripe paper straws from countless milkshakes as Veronica swans into Pop’s followed by her doting boyfriends.

“V!” Betty exclaims excitedly, putting her book down as Veronica slides into the booth after Archie and before Reggie, so she can be sandwiched between those two beefcakes. 

Jughead loves Betty and would do anything for her, including putting up with Veronica Lodge and the endless muscle museum that seems to trail her around, worshipping wherever her stilettoed feet deign to land. 

“B, darling,” Veronica trills and proffers her hands for Betty to hold. Jughead snorts, wondering if she is going to demand Betty to kiss her rings like a mafia don. 

Veronica arches an eyebrow in his direction. “Jughead.”

He leans back in the pleather booth, folds his arms and watches Veronica’s expression as she turns back to Betty. Jughead is convinced that Veronica would gleefully shanghai him for a chance to induct Betty into her little sex cult. 

“I’m thinking we should all do Christmas this year,” Veronica states and Betty nods in agreement, eyes shining. Betty loves it when everyone spends time together, so of course she would be drawn in to such Lodge dirty pool. 

“Sounds perfect,” Betty breathes and looks at him with those big doe-eyes of hers, “What do you say, Juggie?”

_Well, how can I say no to her when she looks at me like that?_

In fact, if Jughead can recall, in the seven years since they started dating, he has _never_ said no to her, whether she looks at him or not. 

“Sure,” he states curtly, then glares at Veronica as her smile sharpens like a dagger. 

“Oh Juggie, that’s so great,” Betty says, leaning over to kiss him softly at the corner of his mouth. “You’re going to love Melbourne.”

_Wait, what?_

.  
.  
.

There are two things Jughead ruminates on while in Veronica’s private jet on the way to Australia the week before Christmas. One is how much he is determined to not give Veronica the satisfaction of even his remote enjoyment and two is how fucking far Melbourne is from New York. 

Twenty-six hours of travel not counting refuelling. 

It’s heinous. 

He hopes that a giant fissure erupts in the middle of Australia and pitches it into the ocean. Betty informs him, using a giant binder of research, that this is _impossible_ because Australia is an island continent and resides on one tectonic plate. He wants to be snide and whisper, “Thanks Cooper” but she’s so cute with her little ponytail and pretty face that he just ends up telling her he loves her and kissing her breathless. 

Actually, there is a third thing that occupies Jughead’s mind: Archie. Idiot seems to think he’s perfected the Australian accent from his recent viewing of Crocodile Dundee. In the twenty–six hours of flight time Jughead has imagined countless scenarios of either killing Archie or himself. The most creative one involves using the window shades as ninja stars. Betty would sharpen them for him, of course, because she’s good at everything. When he suggests it to her, her eyes sparkle with mischief at the prospect. 

The simplest one is his fantasy of tossing Archie out of the Gulfstream. It’s beautiful enough to lull him to a restless sleep, holding on to Betty’s hand. 

.  
.  
.

Australia is hot. 

He is expecting it, but it’s one thing to think, “oh it will be one hundred degrees” while he’s shivering his ass off on the snowy streets of Brooklyn, but another entirely when he has to _take his fucking beanie off_ because his _hair_ is sweating in the roiling dry heat. 

Stupid country. 

Betty holds his hand despite the sweat, the giant folder tucked under her arm, all it’s multicolour tabs aligned to exact right angles to the binder, indicating the countless ways in which Veronica and his girlfriend want to torture him over the next month. Her smile is beautiful and excited. 

What’s wrong with a Christmas dinner at Veronica’s penthouse apartment where he and Betty and sneak into the stairwell and have sex while Veronica, Reggie and Archie play drunken twister? 

What’s wrong with that, huh?

_I hate new things._

.  
.  
.

Veronica hires them a giant mansion for their stay. It has a pool, which apparently is a siren song to Reggie, who wastes no time in ripping off his shirt and walking out into the sun, pecs dancing. Jughead glares at his enjoyment. 

“There’s an elevator inside,” Veronica informs him with her characteristic rich-bitch smugness. He hates that he likes Veronica better when she’s smug. It speaks to troubling aspects of his psyche. 

Jughead settles in the darkest corner of the room and seethes while Veronica, Archie and Betty run around the house and try to find the elevator. 

After five minutes, Jughead gives up on their squealing antics and goes to open the pantry to assuage his hunger. 

“Veronica,” Jughead calls, furious that there is no food, “The elevator is in here.”

It goes to the wine cellar and Veronica couldn’t be more excited as she starts babbling about a place called _Margaret River_. As she inspects the wine bottles left for them, cooing over the grape varietals while Archie stands by like a redheaded monolith, Betty pushes Jughead into an alcove and whispers “Remember the bunker?” As if he would _ever forget anything_ to do with Betty Cooper. 

They make love right then and there, Betty biting on his hand to muffle her gasps. 

So elevators and cellars are good. Okay.

.  
.  
.

Veronica drags them all around to “visit the sites”. In his mind, this is in quotation marks because Melbourne is a tiny city. 

_In fact, does it even count as a city?_ he chortles to himself, pleased by his internal snark. 

Despite himself, he marvels at the patina copper roof and decorative edging of Flinders Street Station and wishes that they would remove the tacky Christmas lights from the façade, because it’s quite beautiful. 

He also really loves the street art in all the laneways. 

Veronica shows them her favourite lanes: AC/DC (yes, named after the band, according to Betty’s folder of research) and Hosier. Betty’s folder mentions that AC/DC lane was re-named in 2004 by the Lord Mayor of Melbourne (seriously, these people could give Cheryl Blossom a run for Queen of Drama) who famously said, "As the song says, there is a highway to hell, but this is a laneway to heaven. Let us rock." The christening was accompanied by a ferocity of bagpipers (that has to be the collective noun, right?) who played "It's a Long Way to the Top" in homage. Jughead hates that he admires the poetic flair of it all. 

The art itself is gorgeous and vibrant, and according to Betty, totally legal. They see street artists building murals of faces, political slogans and flaming birds. Even the dumpsters are pretty. It is very confusing. 

They watch as countless tourists (including Veronica and her boy toys) take photos of themselves with the wild array of jaunty colours and barred windows. Some people are even getting wedding photos, complete with lighting umbrellas. 

Betty takes a photo of his face and whispers, “You look so beautiful.”

He smirks, “You mean when I’m grumpy?”

She grins at him, “You’re not grumpy, Jug, you’re happy. That makes you annoyed at yourself because it means that you and Veronica have something in common beyond your love of me, of course.”

Behind her, Jughead sees Veronica blow him a sardonic kiss before snapping another selfie, Reggie and Archie holding her up like she’s a princess. 

He snorts. Betty is way off the mark, which is unlike her.

.  
.  
.

“Anyone dying for a coffee?” Reggie pipes up, “This jetlag is slamming me something rude.”

Veronica kisses his cheek and nods, “I love it. I could go for an iced latte.” She turns to Jughead and quirks her stupid, perfect eyebrow and says, “I think you’re a flat white or magic guy, Jughead.”

Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. 

It’s probably in Betty’s folder somewhere, but right now, Betty is trying to coach Archie in making his accent less “Kiwi” (based on some unsolicited yet welcomed feedback from a random passerby) using subsection twenty-seven of her folder which contains “common words written in the phonetic alphabet for Australian accents”. After working on Archie’s vowels, Jughead overhears her explain that Australians don’t pronounce the letter “r” if they can help it, but rather elongate the other surrounding letters. She tells him that Melburnians pronounce their own city name as “Mel-bun.” Jughead thinks their accent is simultaneously cute and stupid, like Reggie. 

Now, Archie is avoiding the letter all together like a verbal lipogram, and saying “Hi I’m Achie” while tapping himself proudly on the chest and Jughead can’t concentrate because he’s trying not to laugh. He can’t wait for Archie to say Reggie’s name. 

“Babe, Starbucks is like a two mile walk from here? What is with this city and their lack of Starbucks?” Reggie pouts, looking at his phone. Reggie is a sucker for what Veronica would call “masstige” brands. Jughead hates that he’s hung around with her long enough to let her silver-spoon vocabulary insert itself into his own.

Veronica purrs and leans over, “Oh you sweet, perfect hunk, Melburnians hate chain food stores and have some of the best coffee in the world, so Starbucks is just for the tourists.”

Jughead’s ears prick up and unfortunately for him, Veronica notices, and smirks at him with a gleam in her eye. “Did you like the sound of that, hipster beanie boy?”

Suffice to say, he does not like _this_ , nor being reminded that he is presently _sans beanie_ in the sweltering heat mere days before fucking Christmas.

If Betty could hear his thoughts right now she would describe them as “melodramatic” or possibly “histrionic”.

Reggie throws his arms around Jughead and wheedles, “Come on needle nose! Let’s get you some fucking magic.”

Is magic like jingle jangle? 

Jughead wonders if he is about to be drugged _and_ shanghaied so far from home. 

He can hear Betty laughing from behind him and feels comforted. If he were to disappear, the most tenacious blonde in the world wouldn’t rest until she hunted him down and saved him from whatever hell Veronica could inflict upon him. 

_Betty’s so hot and perfect._

He sighs and resigns himself to his fate, leaving Reggie’s arm slung around him like the charitable _hipster_ he is. 

They go to _The Auction Rooms_ in North Melbourne, passing the old Meat Market on the way (“J’adore!” Veronica states and Jughead is not sure if she is referring to the 1800’s architecture or a different kind of meat market… he glares at Reggie and Archie’s twin smug grins for good measure). 

Jughead loathes admitting that he really loves the Melbourne Magic. Betty takes a photo of his reluctantly pleased face and feeds him a delicious, buttery croissant between his sulky sips. He licks her fingertips and enjoys the dark look in her emerald eyes. 

They make a French exit to the unoccupied toilets to – ahem – continue licking. 

.  
.  
.

The gang take an electric tram to Fitzroy to a place called “Naked For Satan” which is only one of the many conditions under which Veronica Lodge would strip, according to Mr TMI himself, Reggie Mantle. 

Veronica takes them to the rooftop, which has a – dare he think it? – breathtaking view of the Melbourne skyline and orders them each a tasting paddle of fusion vodkas and countless plates of pintxos. 

Through the night Jughead and Betty share messy, deliciously flavoured kisses (his favourite to taste on her is salted butter caramel) and his growling stomach is momentarily satisfied with Spanish treats as they stare out across the city watching the myriad colours of the vivid and very late sunset. 

“I love you,” she murmurs, looking deep into his eyes, the folder perched next to her like a trusty guardian dog, “I’m so glad you’re relaxing a little now. You’ve been so stressed about this book, I just wanted to take your mind off everything.”

His fingers skate up her summer dress and brush her silky inner thigh. “You’re so perfect and thoughtful. I love you.”

She hums in pleasure as he kisses her, the sound sending little vibrations through their joined lips. 

“I promise I will stop being such a little bitch,” he tells her, their foreheads touching. 

Her eyes widen comically and she gasps, hand on heart, “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

He rolls his eyes and nuzzles her nose, ignoring her giggles. 

.  
.  
.

The next night, Betty and Veronica do a “girls” night and decide to do a “speakeasy” crawl. Jughead scoffs at this tiny city having enough speakeasy venues for a crawl. 

Veronica lowers her Prada sunglasses and smirks at him, “You can join us if you want?” 

He does, but he would rather eat his sweaty beanie than admit it to her.  
Archie and Reggie convince him to go with them to a pub, which has _sports_ on the countless TVs. Jughead hates the whole vibe immediately. 

He and Archie go up to order beers. The bartender looks them up and down and says, “Did you want a drink?”

“Well I didn’t come here to fuck spiders!” Archie exclaims excitedly and Jughead refrains from slamming his face down repeatedly on the bar. Archie and his fucking phrasebook of idioms and slang. 

The bartender smirks, “Alright, do you want to try something local?”

“Sure,” Archie says, bouncing around like the puppy he is. 

Jughead gets a text from Betty that reads: **Little Creatures, Mountain Goat.**

He glares at it for a moment and then back at the taps and realises, _they’re brewery names_. He thanks his lucky stars for the woman of his dreams and steers Archie in the right direction. 

Then Betty texts him: **One of Australia’s former prime ministers could skull 2.5 pints of beer in 11 seconds. He attributes his political success to this feat.**

He snorts and rolls his eyes. **Thanks Betts.**

“Good choice bluey,” the bartender says and sets about pouring them each a pint. 

Archie looks concerned and whispers, “What’s a bluey?”

Jughead pats his hapless friend on his shoulder and states, “Irony, my friend.”

When they get back to the table, it seems like most of the pub has flocked around Reggie. Despite Archie’s best efforts, all the Aussies seem to _adore_ Reggie. They keep asking him how “training” is going and “is he excited to get back into the G?” Jughead assumes he’s been mistaken for a sports hero, and the guy is just lapping up the attention, hard-core flexing. 

Jughead makes his escape when Archie joins in the gun show. There’s enough all-American muscle at that table without him. 

He finds Betty and Veronica in a speakeasy down a very dark, super sketchy alley behind a heavy wrought-iron door that has a small plaque next to it that reads “Eau de Vie”. 1920’s music pipes through speakers and the whole place feels like a delicious step back in time. Jughead orders himself a green gimlet before walking over to join the women, sliding into the seat next to Betty to give her a kiss. She is delighted to see him and hugs him close.

“I knew you would show up here, Jones,” Veronica quips over the rim of her espresso martini. “You have great taste.”

He hates that he takes it like a compliment. 

.  
.  
.

Betty wants to go see some Australian animals, so Veronica hires her a car so that they can drive to an animal sanctuary a few hours away. Betty gets behind the wheel, because she loves it, holds an international drivers licence and has studied up on all the requisite road rules. In Australia, they drive on the wrong side of the road and Betty considers that an exciting challenge.

Reggie is in charge of the music on the road trip and he plays an “Australian Summer Mix” which is an eclectic mix of Australian hip-hop, a DJ called Flume, too much AC/DC, a guy named Vance Joy and a song called “Horses”. Reggie tells them that he got really into Australian hip-hop before he arrived. 

Archie keeps muttering about the dangers of the wildlife. “Everything in this country is out to kill you, especially the drop bears,” he murmurs forlornly, staring out the window at the sparkling blue ocean views. 

On this trip, Jughead learns a few things.

One, all animals love Betty. She is like a Disney princess and could probably coax a crocodile to do her hair or something. He takes photos of her with every animal because she’s so adorable. He loves it when she baby-talks the echidnas and a weird marsupial called a pademelon.

Two, kangaroos are much larger than he expected. Betty pats them all with a smile on her face, feeding them from the palm of her hand, but Archie stays outside the gate, hands wrapped around the wires, peering in. Veronica and Reggie take elaborate and obnoxious selfies, as usual. 

Three, emus are fucking terrifying. Betty tells him that there once was a war against the emus and the humans lost. As they run around, Jughead maintains his distance, completely understanding why those hectic birds would win. They’re monsters.

Four, the feeling about emus is surpassed when Jughead sees a fucking dinosaur bird hybrid that is apparently called a cassowary. This makes Archie freak out, thinking their been time-warped to the Jurassic age and he whispers “clever girl” under his breath until Veronica rolls her eyes and drags him out to get an ice cream. 

It still doesn’t feel like the lead-up to Christmas, but the Eucalypt smell is rather appealing. 

.  
.  
.

That night they cuddle up on the beach with “fish and chips” and watch the march of the penguins coming in from the sea. They enjoy the sunset over the water, the golden glow of the rays illuminating the gentle waves of the beach. 

Betty turns to him and smiles warmly, her green eyes sparkling in the setting sun. “Juggie,” she whispers, lips moments from his. His eyes flick down to watch her tongue dart out and lick her lips, “Did you know that one of Australia’s former prime ministers drowned at sea?”

He snorts and cups her face in his hands to kiss her quiet. Her delighted laughter dances through their space and she gasps, pulling back to say, “And they named a pool in his honour.”

Jughead smirks and between peppered kisses, states, “I love you and your weird ironic facts.”

Betty grins at him and tucks herself under his arm, feeding him fries as they stare lazily at the water. She trembles in excitement when they see the penguins and Jughead has to admit that their little waddle is pretty adorable. Plus the look on his girlfriend’s face is definitely worth flying around the world to see again. 

.  
.  
.

On Christmas Eve, Veronica sets them up with a picnic at the local park. It’s hot and sunny at eight in the evening and they sit around eating all the fresh fruit they could fit into their reusable bags. Jughead, ordinarily, is not a fruit-eater, but seeing Betty balance cherries on her lips and hook the stems over her ears like they’re edible jewellery makes the whole _fruit thing_ seem more appealing. 

Betty giggles as his lips brush her ear as he vainly attempts to snack on the cherry tucked against her cheek. Barely attempts, because Betty Cooper is tastier than any cherry. 

Veronica rolls her eyes in their direction and makes a disgusted scoffing sound, which is frankly, the _height of hypocrisy_ coming from that she-demon. Her new Hermes bag sits proudly on display next to her as if she is waiting for someone to walk past and compliment her incredible taste in fashion. This is not New York, Veronica, he wants to say. (Earlier that day, Veronica insisted on going shopping on “the Paris end of Collins street”, to which Archie replied, “Doesn’t New York have Hermes?”. Veronica smiled at him indulgently and said, “No lines here Archiekins. Plus, it’s so adorably small and quaint. I love the personal feel.”)

Reggie is reading Betty’s folder, apparently trying to understand “Aussie Rules Football” so that he can more intelligently impersonate the sports star for which he was previously mistaken. Jughead doesn’t give a flying fuck about sports, but hearing Reggie attempt to explain the rules to Archie tickles him. 

“So you can’t hold the ball?” Archie is very confused. “Where does it go?”

“You bounce it, I think? Or kick it? But you can’t throw it…” Reggie picks up the football he bought earlier and attempts to bounce the oblong-shaped ball. It hits and odd angle and jumps away from him. 

The next fifteen minutes are spent with Veronica snickering behind her hand and making TikTok videos while Reggie and Archie chase around the wayward, erratically-bouncing ball. 

.  
.  
.

Once the sun has set, they walk around the houses of Veronica’s chosen neighbourhood with ice creams dripping down their hands as they look at all the ridiculously over-decorated houses. Being from New York, there is something incredibly jarring about seeing Reggie and Archie in short shorts (in general, but especially) against the backdrop of Christmas lights. It doesn’t _feel_ like Christmas and no amount of fake snow and light up automaton creations are going to change that. 

Betty is smiling and happy, licking her ice cream with a blissful smile on her face and Jughead takes her free hand and turns to face her fully. The lights blur behind her, a bokkeh effect that graces his love in a myriad of glittering colours.

There’s something so beautiful about standing with her on the other side of the world, basking in the warmth like a cat and having her stare at him with _that_ expression.

“I love you, Betty,” he whispers.

Her eyes narrow, ruining the romance of the moment and she says, “Nice try Forsythe, but you can’t have my ice-cream, get your own.”

“Oh really?” He crooks one eyebrow. 

She assumes a fighting stance; the ice cream shielded by what he knows (from first hand experience) is a very solid left jab. 

He pounces on her, laughing at her squeals and gets a face full of ice cream.

Veronica orders them to hose off in the front yard that night before she lets them enter the house. 

In the plush front lawn, illuminated by the soft glow of the solar lights, the sprinkler cascading rivulets of water all over them, Jughead’s mouth finds Betty’s and they consume each other, gasps lost in the sound of the running water and frisky cicadas.

.  
.  
.

On Christmas day, Reggie declares himself King of the Barbeque and dons an apron that reads “Mr Good Lookin’ is Cookin’” and starts on the seafood grill. Veronica makes delighted cooing noises over his general appearance and Betty explains that the seafood barbeque is the most common Christmas tradition in Australia. 

Archie makes a Christmas punch with a whole bottle of local Four Pillars Christmas Gin and hands out glasses to everyone, decorated with little umbrellas and fresh raspberries. 

Jughead helps Betty make an assortment of weird salads – at Veronica’s request, of course - and he eyes the watermelon, mint and fetta one with suspicion. Betty assures him that it’s delicious. 

He eyes the magnificence that is the _Pavlova_ and licks his lips, not wanting to wait to sink his teeth into that. Betty smacks him gently with a salad server and he realises he’s been drooling.

They have a lazy lunch by the pool under the giant umbrellas. Jughead catches himself smiling happily on several occasions and works quickly to school his face into a mask of casual indifference lest Veronica notice. 

Betty has, and she’s beaming in response, her gorgeous smile illuminating him more than anything else ever could. 

“Merry Christmas Juggie,” she whispers softly, eyes molten. 

“You too, Betts, this has been really fun, thanks so much for planning it all.”

He catches Veronica’s responding smirk but doesn’t care. 

“Jughead,” Veronica interrupts him (very rudely). He reluctantly slides his eyes from Betty’s beautiful face to stare at his nemesis. “I’ve got a Christmas present for you.”

“What, gloating? Lording it over me?” He quips and mumbles “ow” when Betty’s hand slaps him lightly across the chest. 

Veronica’s smile sharpens, “In a manner of speaking. I want to offer you the use of my private jet for the week. Take Betty somewhere nice.”

“Oh Veronica!” Betty exclaims next to him, “We couldn’t accept that! You’re already paying for so much!”

“Betty, come on, she probably wants to get sandwiched between Archie and Reggie and we are forth and fifth wheel respectively.” Jughead catches Veronica’s expression and concedes, “Or rather, I am fifth wheel.”

Veronica snorts inelegantly and nods crisply in agreement. “Do me a favour and fly yourself somewhere nice, children.”

Jughead grins in thanks to Veronica and turns to Betty, “Betts, I have the perfect place. It’s a beach town called Noosa. It’s meant to be really beautiful and a great place to relax.”

“Juggie that sounds great!” Betty bites her lip in excitement. “I can’t believe you did the research for it! I thought you didn’t enjoy Australia?”

Jughead bristles uncomfortably. “It’s growing on me. Well, to be fair, it’s because I love spending time with you.”

“Aww Jug.” Betty’s hand clasps over his. “I love you too.” She pauses for a moment and muses, “So why Noosa?”

Jughead grins at her and announces, “They have a place there called Betty’s Burgers and I just _have_ to taste them. It’s my birth right.”

“And that answers that question, ladies and gentlemen,” Veronica states dryly. 

Jughead flips her the bird, grinning. 

Betty giggles and kisses his cheek. “Sounds perfect.”

Christmas with Betty, no matter where it is, is always magical.

**Author's Note:**

> I should mention that every place mentioned in this fic is real, including the house with the elevator/cellar. The only bit of fiction was that the house did not have a pool, but I added it for Reggie <3


End file.
